C is for C-Class Calibration
by sbyamibakura
Summary: Rick/Morty, set in no particular time. Part Three of the Alphabet Chronicles. Rick Sanchez (of Dimension Z-123) did NOT need a Morty-despite what the council seemed to think. Morty, of course, manages to find a way through Rick's defenses.


By: PhoenixJustice

Disclaimer: Rick and Morty is property of many people who aren't me. I merely own this story and make no profit from this.

Pairing: Rick/Morty.

Setting: No particular point in the series, mentions of some things from the series.

Summary: Rick Sanchez (of Dimension Z-123) did _not_ need a Morty-despite what the shitty council seemed to think. Morty, of course, manages to find a way through Rick's defenses.

A/N: The idea for this came from the fanart that a lot of people probably know about at this point, from Tumblr, portraying a twenty something Rick whom has to take charge of a suddenly Rick-less Morty.

A/N 2: Credit to sugarandmemories from Tumblr for the aforementioned art that inspired this as well as said flavor text, some of it which will be used in the fic, such as stating this Rick to be from Dimension Z-123.

Part Three of _The_ _Alphabet Chronicles_.

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The first thing out of his mouth was a grumpy "I'm not even an old man! Why am I getting a Morty?"

He pointedly ignores Morty next to him, who keeps glancing at him, holding one of his arms and looking nervous. One of the Shitty Council of Shitheads (also known as the The Trans-Dimensional Council of Ricks, but fuuuuuuck that was a lame as fuck name) looks down at him, entirely unimpressed with him.

"We don't care. Deal with it."

Why stick _him_ with Morty duty? It wasn't even like he had kids of his own or anything yet. It wasn't _his_ fault that this Morty had lost his Rick in an accident. There were a million and one _older_ Rick's that'd suit the kid much better than him. He glares at the Council member, lighting up a cigarette, taking a deep drag before finally replying.

"Whatever, fine." He tries to shrug it off, still ignoring Morty next to him. "Fuck you though."

It's only as he is nearly out of the building that he realizes that Morty hadn't moved from the spot he had been in for the past few minutes, silent the entire time.

"Hey! Shitbag!"

Morty jumps.

"M-me?"

He rolls his eyes. "Who the fuck else would I be talking to?" He jerks his head. "Come on."

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He was loud, boisterous, with arms covered in tattoos, covered in piercings, tanned, rocking mom jeans like _nobody's business_ and all he can think is, despite the differences, is- _home_.

He had thought he'd be so distracted with the differences, but that wasn't what surprised Morty.

 _This_ Rick, unlike so many others, unlike his own...was a complete teetotaler. When Morty's eyes had traveled to Rick's usual place to set alcohol in the ship, Rick notices and sneers at him.

"What? I don't need that shit to get shit done." And that was that.

After that, Rick had more or less started to ignore him again. He wasn't unused to something like that. Many times Rick would be in the middle of a new invention, or in the middle of fixing another one, and would get distracted. Morty had tried not to let those times get to him. It had always felt like Rick had been his world, when it had just been a couple of years ago that he had suddenly showed up, belching and cursing and _not giving a fuck_ and Morty couldn't help but be impressed by him. He wondered what it said about him that he only ever called him by _Rick_ and not anything else. Then, no mattered what he wondered, it was too late. And he could only-

"Hey, fuckboy." Rick finally grunts. He wasn't looking at Morty, but was instead focusing on a small silver circular object in his lap that he was working on. His hair surprised Morty. It wasn't blue like Rick's had been or the like the other Rick's. In all his travels he had seen many Rick's of varying kinds and while they had their differences, the thing they all had in common was the hair. Was it the age of the Rick's? But no, even when he had met Tiny Rick (C-137 Rick's clone body) he had blue hair and he was obviously much younger.

Maybe it was dyed?

"Hey!"

Morty jumps again.

"Hurry the fuck up."

Morty hurries over to the opposite seat, feeling way too much deja vu as he sits.

"W-what can I do?"

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"This is a C-Class Calibration," Rick finally says, still tinkering with it. "I gotta take it to a guy on Mars. He's got a thing for alliteration, so he wants to add this to his collection."

It's quiet for a moment. Then: "What d-does it do?"

"It calibrates the crystals in most space vehicles, which keeps them working longer. Usually they have to be outright replaced, but this bypasses that, allowing them to charge, saving people money." He says tensely. He had been laughed at-oh he had been laughed at-by the Council of Shitheads (as well as a few other spare Rick's) at something so inane. Especially so at making something that'd actually _save_ people money, instead of trying to get more out of them.

He waits for the inevitable comment about it from Morty as well; just because he was a Morty didn't mean he wouldn't talk about how dumb this thing was as well. Despite Rick actually putting a lot of effort into it. Just because it wasn't as fucking flashy as some other things, that didn't mean-

"Oh wow." But, no. Morty's voice was a bit in awe, not laughing. He finally turns to look at Morty, all buckled up in the other seat. He looked like he was actually _listening_ to what Rick had to say. He wasn't used to that; other than Birdperson, no one ever actually gave Rick the time of day. Either called him a punk, a bum, or both. Never looked at him like he was _actually_ something of worth.

He nearly squirms at the sudden warm feeling flooding him. What the fuck? He tries to move past it by getting into Morty.

"What?" he snarls. "Your old guy never make something like this?"

Morty flinches and he almost feels bad about it (another surprise!) He looks down.

"No." Morty finally whispers. "He saw stuff-stuff like that as being a waste of time. Especially if it couldn't get you more money out of it."

He wasn't surprised; almost all Rick's were like that. Or at least the ones he had met were like that. They wanted to sneer at _him_ for his devices, but _he_ wasn't the drunk, now was he? He was his own Rick. He had always been proud of that fact.

He doesn't like the silence (nor, if he was being honest with himself, the sad look in Morty's eyes. He looked like he was used to dealing with ridicule. ...Rick was much the same. He knew how that felt) and finally speaks.

"Wanna finish this?"

Morty's head jerks up, eyes widening in shock. "W-what?"

He shrugs, as if it isn't a big deal, ignoring the butterflies in his stomach. "I need a smoke." He gets out of his seat, pushing the C-Class Calibration and other items into Morty's lap, ignoring the warmth as his hand brushes against Morty's arm, ignoring Morty's stunned look. "You just gotta tighten up the loose screws at the top."

He goes to the back, grabbing his smokes. He takes a few long drags, eyes closed, the only sound Morty's careful working of the object.

"Rick...thank you."

He startles, unable to help himself. It was the first time Morty had called him by name. He feels that warm feeling again. A half smile comes to his face, despite himself.

"You're welcome. Morty."

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A/N: My first foray into Rick and Morty, so I hope I did alright! I was definitely inspired by the fanart I saw, as it presented me a Rick I hadn't seen before and I wanted to capture that in fic. I hope I managed to do so.

I hope you enjoyed this!

Let me know what you thought!

-PhoenixJustice


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